[it's an awkward, unfamiliar heat that crests down Badou's chest, settling into his gut like an unwanted guest. he shifts a little uneasily, perplexed at it, but hardly dwelling]
[there are more important things at hand -- he can't help but glance briefly to the red strand(string) wound around Genkaku's finger]
[he's too damn smart to be superstitious, maybe, but he'll admit that bad omens (and maybe -- good ones, too?) exist]
[mouth still curved up, he pushes back his own hair, a not-so-junkie scratch through limp strands]
You 'fraid'a it? S'hard not ta go back to wrong, sometimes.
[it's admitted easily, in confidence of cold porcelain Gods and a warm lover's blushing skin]
[he opens those wild red eyes, not startled but churning with a dare and flickering with heat and heartbeat (maybe making that house guest pour gasoline all over the apartment)]
But I wanna go forward. Real bad.
[(the words are matchsticks, the click of tongue on teeth the flint)]
Same way I always wanna dive into a fight. Like my hands are shakin' an' I'm real tight all over.
[he raises his head slow and enchanted snake-like, split lips smiling ugly bruises]
[it's a feeling he hasn't had in a long, long while in regards to Genkaku, crawling up his spine; of fightflight, of that blurring line between want and fear that has his nerves sparking and his needs churning]
[it's not paranoia inducing, doesn't have alarms going off in his head, like the first time. it's exciting, a bad (but not wrong) end to look forward to]
[Badou grins, suddenly leaning forward to catch the other man's hair, fingers tanglingsnagging a bit too rough]
[he pulls the other man forward by those red strands, crushing forehead to forehead (smothering that tilaka between them)]
[the rasp is as playful and full of camaraderie as it is sincere and full of -- something else, that Badou (with all his analysis and black and white) can't name]
Dunno if I could even if I wanted ta. An' I don't.
[the sweat on his brow is from both lustfever-trustfever and the sun-soaking as it rams, animal combatant, into those flat bones]
[his own hand goes up, beneath limp and damp hair, crawls a summer glaze up thinner shoulders and onto the curve of his neck, over his pulse -- holding, feeling, breathing]
Yah, you mus' be sick. Skin's all hot. Ain't a dog's nose supposed'tuh be wet and cold?
[he wants to smash that thinner body between the cold tiles and himself, stripped and bare and bruised and bloody, light them up to cool them down -- ]
[the grinding press of plates and the thrum of Genkaku's pulse, felt through that rough hand; Badou's pulse responds to it, quickening and alive (festering, boiling in that unfamiliar summer's heat)]
Don't help that you're 'bout a hunnerd fuckin' degrees.
[and he smashes forward harder, bruising crowns and knobby, jagged bumps of noses (the ones that always break), daringdaringdaring -- ]
[his head tilts expectantly, hungrily, crunching bones and grinding teeth all bent to that adrenaline]
[ -- and all so freeze, hand lingering in the air where Badou's neck once had been. empty, soggy... tomaty.]
...Ah.
[his mouth opens to say something more and -- stops]
[Badou doesn't know what he's doing. he's just feeling; Genkaku can see that written plainly on his face]
[...the debasing comment he'd almost said would have ruined those small paws going forward on the forest floor, and the changing of seasons would have been sullied]
[Badou folds lanky arms along the porcelain rim Genkaku had abandoned, grinning happily, almost expectantly, as if he'd done something worth praising, for once]
[how do you praise a junkyard dog unused to touch without a slab of raw meat on hand?]
[Genkaku, his proverbial owner, feels safe enough to dig fingers into the fur on his skull and scratch behind his ears, pads of his fingers massaging on either side]
The luckiest. Aaah, Kannon-Sama's really been smilin' on me lately.
[he'd wonder, any other time, what was about to go wrong]
[Badou sinks lower and lower against the side of the tub, freckled shoulder blades pinioning high, like a looming vulture's wings]
[the blunt heaviness against his head lulls him, and the only response he gives the other man is a grunt, absorbed entirely in the feel of things, rather than the dissected sum of their parts]
[(that was the monk's answer, maybe -- that maybe a junkyard dog liked to relax as roughly as he liked to play)]
[after another long few moments, however, too much of his weight slides comfortably forward, and Badou starts lightly out of a dozing trance at the falling sensation, making a low, groggy noise]
[he chuckles at the fall and jump, pulling his hands back then, seeing how really weary the other man is -- he's not like Genkaku, after all; he's just plain human]
[drawing onto knees, he collects his tomato-stained robes, resting elbows on the side of the tub by him]
I can bring the craft up f'ya wanna come back.
[and jerks a thumb to the door]
'Course, that bed's closer. Ya look like ya need it.
Reply
Should be. S'your fault.
-- But it's startin' tuh'feel all right. Alotta things are.
Reply
[it's an awkward, unfamiliar heat that crests down Badou's chest, settling into his gut like an unwanted guest. he shifts a little uneasily, perplexed at it, but hardly dwelling]
[there are more important things at hand -- he can't help but glance briefly to the red strand(string) wound around Genkaku's finger]
[he's too damn smart to be superstitious, maybe, but he'll admit that bad omens (and maybe -- good ones, too?) exist]
[mouth still curved up, he pushes back his own hair, a not-so-junkie scratch through limp strands]
You 'fraid'a it? S'hard not ta go back to wrong, sometimes.
Reply
[it's admitted easily, in confidence of cold porcelain Gods and a warm lover's blushing skin]
[he opens those wild red eyes, not startled but churning with a dare and flickering with heat and heartbeat (maybe making that house guest pour gasoline all over the apartment)]
But I wanna go forward. Real bad.
[(the words are matchsticks, the click of tongue on teeth the flint)]
Same way I always wanna dive into a fight. Like my hands are shakin' an' I'm real tight all over.
[he raises his head slow and enchanted snake-like, split lips smiling ugly bruises]
[(the same fire has him all lit up)]
Don't stop.
Reply
[it's not paranoia inducing, doesn't have alarms going off in his head, like the first time. it's exciting, a bad (but not wrong) end to look forward to]
[Badou grins, suddenly leaning forward to catch the other man's hair, fingers tanglingsnagging a bit too rough]
[he pulls the other man forward by those red strands, crushing forehead to forehead (smothering that tilaka between them)]
[the rasp is as playful and full of camaraderie as it is sincere and full of -- something else, that Badou (with all his analysis and black and white) can't name]
Dunno if I could even if I wanted ta. An' I don't.
Reply
[his own hand goes up, beneath limp and damp hair, crawls a summer glaze up thinner shoulders and onto the curve of his neck, over his pulse -- holding, feeling, breathing]
Yah, you mus' be sick. Skin's all hot. Ain't a dog's nose supposed'tuh be wet and cold?
[he wants to smash that thinner body between the cold tiles and himself, stripped and bare and bruised and bloody, light them up to cool them down -- ]
[but he can't, and he doesn't.]
Reply
[the grinding press of plates and the thrum of Genkaku's pulse, felt through that rough hand; Badou's pulse responds to it, quickening and alive (festering, boiling in that unfamiliar summer's heat)]
Don't help that you're 'bout a hunnerd fuckin' degrees.
[and he smashes forward harder, bruising crowns and knobby, jagged bumps of noses (the ones that always break), daringdaringdaring -- ]
Reply
Reply
[ -- and all so freeze, hand lingering in the air where Badou's neck once had been. empty, soggy... tomaty.]
...Ah.
[his mouth opens to say something more and -- stops]
[Badou doesn't know what he's doing. he's just feeling; Genkaku can see that written plainly on his face]
[...the debasing comment he'd almost said would have ruined those small paws going forward on the forest floor, and the changing of seasons would have been sullied]
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...I definitely ain't gonna get sick now.
[and draws away, shrugging shoulders out of his robes, wiping face and chest (scar) of red]
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[(maybe he had)]
Damn straight. Ain't you lucky you got me!
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[Genkaku, his proverbial owner, feels safe enough to dig fingers into the fur on his skull and scratch behind his ears, pads of his fingers massaging on either side]
The luckiest. Aaah, Kannon-Sama's really been smilin' on me lately.
[he'd wonder, any other time, what was about to go wrong]
Reply
[it feels like Genkaku is fingerfucking his migraine into submission, and he's not sure if it feels amazing or coma-inducing]
[really, it feels like both, so he doesn't even think of jerking away, and his eye keeps squinted shut, in semi-painful enjoyment]
Hhhnmgh. She likes ya.
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You like me. ...S'better.
[he doesn't stop, works his way around pressure points and where skull and long, skinny neck attach -- digging, rubbing, completely lacking gentility]
Reply
[the blunt heaviness against his head lulls him, and the only response he gives the other man is a grunt, absorbed entirely in the feel of things, rather than the dissected sum of their parts]
[(that was the monk's answer, maybe -- that maybe a junkyard dog liked to relax as roughly as he liked to play)]
[after another long few moments, however, too much of his weight slides comfortably forward, and Badou starts lightly out of a dozing trance at the falling sensation, making a low, groggy noise]
Reply
[drawing onto knees, he collects his tomato-stained robes, resting elbows on the side of the tub by him]
I can bring the craft up f'ya wanna come back.
[and jerks a thumb to the door]
'Course, that bed's closer. Ya look like ya need it.
Reply
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